


GA - 88

by isolated_killer



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Branding, Fantasy, Gen, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolated_killer/pseuds/isolated_killer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jongdae starts seeing a brooding stranger in his mirror, he thinks he's fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GA - 88

Jongdae stands on the crosswalk somewhere in the middle of Sinchon, waiting for the traffic light to turn green, and browses through the trending news on Naver. His expression is cool and disinterested as he scrolls past financial thread on price rises, rolls eyes at detailed statics of recent drama watching throughout Seoul, and screws his lips, breathing in defeat, at few topics on a new couple of idols discovered dating.

Nothing signals him about a speeding white Hyundai Solaris, its driver unconscious and not of control of the steering wheel, as the car veers down the road on full speed. No internal voice tells him to step away from an oncoming danger on a crosswalk in fucking Sinchon, touristic attraction and most well-known student quarter in Seoul.

His brain is blank, save for the pictures of sneaky idols in baggy clothes holding hands in a Gangnam alley, as the car crashes into the traffic light pole and a tire bounces off into his side.

000

Jongdae spends the next three months in rehabilitation at a hospital somewhere in Mapo District, learns how to adapt to breathing with four ribs broken, sitting with minor damage to his spine bone, and eating awful gluey congee with half of his internal organs bruised. Life has been better, but at least, he is not dead, as his friends insist to remind him all the time. The same does not go for that unlucky car driver; safety cushion did not work, as Jongdae learns later, the man died on the spot.

Trapped in a plaster corset, bound in bandages, Jongdae does not get to do much but continue scrolling through his Twitter timeline, looking up comedic skits on Youtube, and read news on Naver, updating “pouty baby” selca on his Instagram with hashtags #cuteboy #attractivecrying #hospitalfood #suxs #bringmecoldAmericano.

His mother, so caring and cautious during the hardest first month of his injury healing process, now acts spiteful each time she catches him with his Samsung S6 Edge; she wrenches the ill-fated device out of his weak hands, murmuring about his sick obsession with the modern technology and how it has brought him so much pain already. Jongdae just sighs in frustration and pretends not to hear her annoying nagging, after all, she is the only person who cares to bring him something other than sticky rice porridge, so driving her away with curses to leave his “sick obsession for his phone” alone is mutely understood as counterproductive.

His friends also pay him occasional visits, mostly compelled into coming by Jongdae’s numerous overly loud whiny phone calls as he pleads them to sneak him some iced coffee. Everyone knows that his healing intestines cannot take in such heavy foods; all of his friends somehow always manage to get caught by his doctor. Jongdae continues to whine a lot and calls everyone out for plotting against him.

Life is slowly returning back to normal.

25

Jongdae’s life starts freewheeling right into an abyss when he is allowed to return to his own studio flat in Seodaemun District, having wasted a month at his parents’ house after the hospital release. Being a well-off boy, coming from a moderately rich family, Jongdae has been trying to make his own statement by not to using his parents’ resources after the folks rushed to buy him a place under a premise of well-natured graduation gift.

A “fuck you” is rarely disguised so generously, and so Jongdae gladly moved out to leave his parents alone and to realize that socks and underwear would not just magically turn up clean. He got used to pay his own bills on time only when the house administration had cut off hot water supply during one particularly steamy “handsy” shower; but even now he occasionally finds himself making shameful midnight detours to 7-Eleven or (often) giving quick order calls to the nearby McDonald’s when the only chewable substance detected in his kitchen is some moldy rice balls.

Learning to live on his own came the hard way, but, at least, no one nagged him about using his smartphone too much, the luxury Jongdae has gotten used to from the very start.  

His position as a logistics specialist at a company producing random cutesy stuff for such brands like ARTBOX and ICONIC pays well enough. His workplace is packed with hordes of enthusiastic women who seem to exist for the sole purpose of fulfilling their daily dream to bury each other under cute and pretty office supplies; to meetings, Jongdae resolutely takes his _Pieces of Moment_ notebook of cream tint with small lime green palm trees and raspberry red flamingoes, twirling his artsy _But Today_ Universe pen. He uses his pink Hello Kitty stapler with a very serious face and clicks up presentations on the projector with a strawberry-shaped PC mouse.

For a number of reasons, Jongdae insists on buying only crude black and white IKEA furniture for his flat, avoiding any triggering splashes of pinks or baby blues in his work-free time.

As of now, finally deemed healthy and fit enough to continue living on his own and attend work, the boy enters his dear and sweet home on a particularly windy Sunday sometime in March, armed with some personal belongings from the hospital and grocery bags with vegetables (celery and garlic and god knows what else) and meats (chicken and veal, and more chicken) which his mother insisted to pack for him. He dumps the heavy stuff on the floor and frowns at the thick layer of dust that covers every piece of the furniture, wrinkling his nose at the stale air in the room.

Even his favourite body-length mirror turned grey as it had no one _so handsome_ to reflect for so long, Jongdae thinks bitterly as he draws a smiley face on its surface with his finger.

Jongdae resolutely decides to spend the last day of his official sick leave cleaning the apartment, and after changing street clothes to his favourite holey pajamas, starts wiping and vacuuming the flat with abandon. He does not feel any pain in his side anymore and it is exhilarating; laughing and sneezing does not make him choke on air anymore, thousand knives cutting through his ribcage, stomach – a hollow drum. Jongdae feels happy with every simple move, agile in his hurried steps to tidy the place up, his smile bright as he can finally bring his arms over his head and stretch in a lazy cat pattern.

Physical health’s the most important thing on this damn planet, hashtags #health, #happyperson, #happyselca, #homesweethome; Jongdae updates his Instagram with the simple truth and a quick portrait of him armed with a peace sign, delighted as he easily drops on his knees to vacuum under the sofa.

89

It is two hours later that he is hit with a belated realization that physical health is nothing without its mental counterpart if you start hallucinating in your own home, 9 pm in the evening, Sunday, 20th March. Jongdae has just got out of a hot shower and, without his contacts, blindly puts on his comfortable pair of glasses in front of now squeaky clean mirror when an unexpected movement catches his eye.

There, in the middle of the room. There is a man wearing black clothes.

Jongdae whips his head around so swiftly that he distinctly hears his neck crack. Palms and armpits take two seconds to start sweating profusely as he stares at the seemingly empty room behind his back. Jongdae does not even blink as he takes a very attentive look at the surrounding space. There is a sudden realization that his place lacks any real spots that could be considered as a good hideout, but theories, the following one worse than the previous begin to surface in his racing mind.

What if a homeless man somehow broke into his apartment while he was absent and started living here, like in that Jason Statham movie _Hummingbird._ What if it is an escaped prisoner and they are armed. What if it is a fucking omen and he only has seven days to live. That person was wearing all black after all. What if it is actually the _49 Days_ drama and this person is coming to possess his body to finish some deeds before they actually die. What if…

Jongdae backtracks, feeling stupid. His imagination has a habit of running too wild at certain times, and this is clearly not the right moment for panic. He turns back to the mirror, taking another good look at the room, unable to spot anything suspicious now. Maybe, it is the shadows and unusual lighting in the room; after all, he has not been here for four months. Or his eyes were playing tricks on him. How long has it been since he last checked his eyesight?

“Maybe, it’s time to hit the eye doc’s,” he whispers as he takes off his thick rimmed glasses and starts checking them for any bent angles. Frame gone awry is the worst thing that can happen to a four-eyed fellow like Jongdae; can also make all furniture dance the moment one puts the ruined glasses on their nose. He checks yet again; the room is empty, his furniture is not dancing, impeccable on its rightful places as should be.

Jongdae buries this feeling of impending doom deep inside his mind as he turns on his Samsung HDTV and flips through channels for some drama to watch. Brought up not believing in superstitions, but having watched a number too many of horror movies, Jongdae “accidently “ does not make eye contact with the mirror for the rest of the night, choosing to safely play games on his phone.

100

Chilly Monday morning greets Jongdae in his Yongsan office near the noisy railway station, nursing a nauseating headache. Greets, as in, hits him in his swollen face, because his body has apparently forgotten what agony it was to wake up early in the mornings. His workmates though seem to be genuinely happy to see Jongdae in one piece and functioning, secretly ecstatic to finally stop doing his work for him, and insist on throwing a small Welcome party in the form of his favourite _Angel-in-us Coffee_ iced Americano and cakes. Jongdae forces a smile the same way he forces the globes of salty caramel cream down his throat, bruised stomach still weak to sugar and greasy foods.

It is six hours later, half of his day gone and an iceberg of work only partially sorted, that he finally finds himself breathing in less sporadically, eyes twitching from stress. Having finished typing up KakaoTalk responses in chats with friends, Jongdae starts soaping up his fingers covered in pen marks during another quick bathroom run to get rid of those four coffee cups and critically inspects newly acquired facial accessories in the form of bluish eye bags. Fuck working, he thinks bitterly, picking up his Samsung to do a few selca for pity likes on Instagram, should just move back in with parents and play video games all day, that’s more fun.

_What a loser._

Jongdae freezes over the ceramic sink with his phone held high, lips caught in a cat smile, eyes opened wide to make them look bigger on screen; the loud reprimand rings in his ears. Shit, he must be looking really weird right now, the boy curses under his breath, as he lowers his phone to excuse himself in front of the person who called him out on engaging in such a useless act, skilled to quickly turn everything into a joke as the damage control.

A tall man is standing right behind his back, dressed in black clothing of heavy material. His face seems familiar to Jongdae, full lips and a small bumpy nose, high cheekbones, tanned skin. His shiny black eyes are looking at Jongdae with so much amusement, and yes, now he is sure that he has definitely seen him somewhere before. But where, if someone with such prominent features worked here, he would have to be pretty popular, Jongdae thinks, frowning at the look of surprise that starts blossoming on the man’s face a second later.

_What the hell, are you looking at me? Can you finally see me?_

Just as Jongdae plasters on a dry smile, ready to voice out an apology, there is a sudden belated realization that the mysterious man’s mouth has not actually moved. But they are definitely alone in the bathroom, all doors to empty toilet stalls hang open, and someone loudly called him a loser just a moment ago. He turns around, taught that speaking to someone through the mirror is not polite, and almost drops the phone on the floor, as the empty bathroom glares at him.

Jongdae’s head whips back and his breath gets caught in his throat, choking on saliva, as the man smiles nervously at him through the mirror and takes a step forward, eyes searching Jongdae’s face for any sign of recognition.

_Jongdae, maybe you can hear me too? Please, don’t panic..._

The boy then gives out an embarrassing squeaky noise and squats down under the sink, hiding from the mirror and very real emptiness of the room. Trembling from his toes to tips of his fingers, Jongdae glares at the spot on the floor where the man is supposed to be standing, thoughts galloping through all possible reasons that could cause the changes in his brain work.

Did the doctor ever mention anything about hallucinations as side effects to medications? Was it the hospital food? That would explain the awful taste, really… God, what if I’m going crazy, should I call mom…

 “Jongdae, you okay, boy?”

Jongdae jumps on his crammed place under the sink, hitting the white ceramic with his head. His colleague who has entered the bathroom just a moment ago to find the guy spacing out on the floor, curses under his breath, running up to help Jongdae stand up, worriedly looking at the reddish mark that starts to blossom on the unfortunate boy’s forehead.

“Is everything alright?”

“I.. I, yes. I’m great. Just dropped a button, so been looking for it…” Pale Jongdae murmurs under his breath, tongue heavy in his mouth from the shock, eyelids blinking rapidly as annoying tentacles of pain begin to wrap around his head, pressing into temples. He will need a pill the size of an elephant to quench this universal headache, really.

“You need help finding it? What colour is it?” The polite colleague looks at the floor, but Jongdae stops him with a weak hand on his shoulder.

“Um, no, no, I… found it already, thank you, really, no need.”

He gives the man a curt nod of gratitude, grabs his phone and quickly runs out of the bathroom, squeezing eyes shut not to catch any sight of the damn mirror, leaving his colleague to curiously stare at the swinging entrance door.

Bathroom breaks are over for today. And no more coffee for me, Jongdae thinks, desperately trying to focus on his work load and forget about nervous excitement he caught in the pair of shiny black eyes.

119

Fucking shit. Crapping crap. Fucking crap. Shitting fuck.

Jongdae’s colourful vocabulary cannot describe the full palette of emotions he has experienced in the past six or seven hours. There is a certain volume to emotional capacity of any human being, and Jongdae is sure that his has just run out of space. Today has been awfully eventful for his liking because the man in black clothes stubbornly continued to turn up in all possible mirroring surfaces Jongdae laid his eyes upon.

He saw a fleeting glimpse of him in the mirror, when Jongdae entered the bathroom for a much needed toilet pause. Breaking out in cold sweat, Jongdae silently tried to reason with himself, thinking that this was just a game of light, ignoring the calls for his attention which loudly resounded inside his head. Fearfully looking around and not seeing anyone in the actual room, he did not even wash his hands, running out of the haunted place. The discovery that he could hear the magical man’s voice only within the proximity of mirrors had greatly improved his mood at first, dampening it a second later, when he realized that hearing any voices at any time was basically a game-over.

On the subway, on his way home down the Line 2, Jongdae kept inspecting the pattern of stuck gum blobs on the compartment floor, ignoring the frown on brooding man’s face reflected in the train glass door. He did not want to attract attention by throwing crazy glances at the seemingly empty place behind his back, choosing not to raise his head at all when the reflection continued to whisper inside his very head, the man’s mouth still very much closed. He called him by his name and told him not to be afraid; and if it was not the exact way how most horror movies started, then Jongdae knew nothing about cinema.

Now, as wary Jongdae has entered his apartment, and is tiredly getting undressed, he studiously avoids looking at the mirror. He starts unbuttoning his pristine black _Lacoste_ shirt, sweaty fingers slipping off glassy buttons when a sudden movement catches his eye. There is that guy again, standing in the middle of his living room, reflected in the body-length mirror, but not existing in reality. Jongdae holds his breath as he watches the real empty living room mock him in his sweaty pale face, trembling from the force of palpitations. Fingers freeze, as the boy slowly turns back towards the cursed mirror.

The man in the reflection screws his lips in a crooked smile, shaking his head as if in disbelief at Jongdae’s antics.

_I thought we’ve established the fact that I can only appear in mirrors, why you wanna go there again, seriously…_

Jongdae yelps, shuts his eyes tightly and runs out of the flat, right in his socks, too shocked and scared to remember things like branded Adidas shoes and Samsung phone, his best friend.

It’s a goddamn Monday, his first working Monday in four months. Is he seeing things because of the stress? What if the pungent mixture of antibiotics and painkillers that he has consumed over the healing time affected him in an irreparable way? What’s he going to do now?

His thoughts are racing when the neighboring door opens and an elderly woman stares at him hugging himself in the corridor, eyes wide in panic, shirt half-opened and white Nike socks dirty.

“Jongdae, darling, are you okay? What happened? Girlfriend troubles?” She asks, smiling tellingly as her attentive eyes catch the sliver of naked chest.

“No, there is someone in my apartment! I swear, I just got back home from work and when I started undressing, I suddenly noticed him in my living room… What am I going to do now?” He whines loudly, forgetting about manners and how cold his feet are, exasperated as he looks at the lady with begging eyes. Screw the realness of empty rooms, Jongdae sees the dude in the mirror, in his book, it means the dude exists.

“Oh my, this is very serious! Come in, don’t stand there, we should call the police! Come in, I’ll go find my phone,” she swings the door open for him, and Jongdae practically flies into her flat, immediately shutting it in case the man in black clothes decides to run out and attack him with a knife or gun or whatever bad guys use to attack innocent tax paying citizens with. Having a hard time to breathe, Jongdae struggles to stand up, feeling the rush of a panic attack go through his body, stomach queasy and knees weak. His hands grab for anything to hold on in the narrow corridor of his neighbor’s flat, tips of his fingers slipping down a cold surface on the wall. Momentary glance to his side, and Jongdae’s veins clog, heart seemingly pumping liquid lead through his dead body as his soul leaves him.

_Jongdae, what the hell do you think you’re doing?_

“We should ask the security to check the CCTV…” Jongdae does not hear the lady speak up as she continues to look for her phone inside far rooms.

There is a vintage mirror on the wall, framed with a carved wood platting. The guy in black is there, on the eye-level with Jongdae now, his face close to his own, as he stares at Jongdae and shakes his head. His eyes look… pleading?

_Jongdae, really?_

“… Yes, yes, it happened just five minutes ago, a man broke into my neighbor’s apartment, and now he’s here with me, hiding in my flat… Aha, yes, well, no, but my neighbor should have seen him, I’ll ask him. Jongdae, excuse me, what does the man look like?”

_Tell her that there is no man in your flat and you’re just stressed so saw things, come on._

Jongdae starts hyperventilating, feeling faint. He throws a distressed look at his neighbor and then back at the mirror, where the guy continues to burn holes in him with his killing stare. There is a vague understanding that his heart immediately accepts whatever this man says as the rightest thing, but Jongdae is on the verge of losing consciousness so he cannot really believe any signals his betraying body is trying to send.

“Don’t you… Don’t you see him?” Jongdae whispers in horror.

_No! She can’t see me! No one can! Only you! I’m only here for you, Jongdae!_

The man’s lips do not move at all, but his dark brown eyes scream volumes, real emotion hitting Jongdae like tides over a shore. There is a storm of panic and fear in Jongdae’s aching confused brain, and he just shakes his head when his neighbor continues to say something illegible, questions as if pronounced in a seemingly different language.

This shady guy is clearly here, in her corridor, his face plastered to her damn mirror, and she only looks at Jongdae. There is a floating head with body and legs lost somewhere behind the fancy frame, but his stupid neighbor only watches Jongdae. 

“Jongdae, please, come to your senses, would you like the security to call you an ambulance?” His neighbor is wearing a very worried look on her face as she carefully touches Jongdae’s shoulder, phone still poised in her other hand, the call with the security guy still on and clearly on speaker.

_Wake up, you’re buying yourself a free ticket to crazy hospital… Tell her to end the call, apologize, return to your place, now, Jongdae._

The low voice resonates inside his hollow head, making the much needed sense that unexpectedly corresponds with Jongdae’s logic; deep inside, he has somehow already accepted the fact that he is the only person who can see the mysterious man in black, and that, naturally, he has gone completely bonkers. But B horror movies have taught Jongdae that one should not listen to the “advice” of strange voices in one’s head, and Jongdae blinks between the frowning mirror man and the wary lady, the fight between his mind and heart ravenous and brutal. 

_Go ahead then, I’m sure the police would love to waste time on you and won’t accuse you of fraudulent calls or anything..._

Okay, but in the end, madness aside, what the ghost guy says is very real; there _is_ this crystal clear understanding that in case if the actual police rushes into his seemingly deserted apartment and does not find any evidence of inbreak, he will be charged a fortune for a false alarm. This fact washes over Jongdae’s clouded consciousness, and the possibility of financial loss sweeps away the panic, fear of uncertain and otherworldly snowballing into more practical and real dread before jail and unemployment. He takes a big breath, silently willing his heart to stop dancing, and turns to his neighbor with a weak smile.

“You know, now that I’ve calmed down thanks to your help, I’m thinking that I might have misunderstood something…”

01

Jongdae has always felt proudly neutral towards everything suspicious, alien and eerie. He gladly ignored the shows about random mediums allegedly seeing and talking to ghosts, successfully stayed away from possible UFO sightings, and easily brushed off any occurrences science failed to explain. No, of course, there was that beautiful naïve age when he had been eagerly expecting to receive the parchment letter from Hogwarts (because children insisted he looked like a Korean Harry Potter when he wore his thin-rimmed round glasses to school); Jongdae also remembered being momentarily possessed by a so called poltergeist during one sleepover party in high school, when he woke up and could move neither his arms or legs even an inch for whole five minutes (he did suspect that could have happened due to him drinking six bottles of Jinro soju on his own early that night).

So, Jongdae does not care about the possible existence of magical creatures like vampires and yeti, and does not prepare himself for a looming zombie epidemic America has been persistently trying to sell to everyone. He is a smart kid who has always been sort of really proud of his own clear mindset and straightforward nature. Also, the humbleness.

Therefore, the boy finds the unfolding situation highly fishy and unlikely to be happening to such a down-to-earth fellow like himself. He has never asked for magic and stuff in the first place, hell, he never even believed in the love at first sight, what is to comment on the probability of becoming the main character in a seemingly paranormal activity, rated M for language.

“Damn,” he whispers, knocking on the body-length mirror with the tip of his nail for the umpteenth time, frowning.

_You planning to make a dent in it or what?_

Jongdae makes an exasperated expression, hoping that no verbal reaction wills the otherworldly voice to shut up, as he continues to avoid the non-existent guy’s eyes in the reflection of his mirror.  He struggles to fit his facial features into something resembling deep thoughtfulness. In honest reality, his brain is absolutely blank; a void where logic and common sense are melting like Dali clocks.  

_It’s not that I’m really behind the glass. Just accept the fact that I’m here, near you. That’s all you need to know, so don’t ask questions. I’m not going to be around here for long, you shouldn’t worry._

No, this cannot possibly be a prank. Jongdae can understand seeing the man in his own mirror, they (whoever the pranksters are) might have tweaked with the wall of his other neighbors, changed the mirror to a two-sided one and this guy is actually situated right behind the glass; but his neighbors are a family of three, with a midget kindergarten kid, so the possibility of them joining on the “fun” task of joking the hell out of Jongdae aka turning him into a mentally unstable wreck seems as credible as Jongdae being a Hallyu star. Besides, even the richest of his friends would never waste so much money just to pull a prank on boring Jongdae; his friends do get reckless at times, but they are not stupid.

Also, how could have the pranksters reached the mirror at work? Stinking mirror at his neighbor’s? And the goddamn subway doors?

 “Are you me but like a sort of Matrix Alice in Wonderland kind of me or some shit? Why do I see you? Are you my Alter Ego? My future self? But then we don’t look alike at all…” Jongdae mutters to the floorboards, internally tugging his big boy pants up and choosing to address the problem, but not yet ready to fully accept it. “Don’t tell me you came from the future to warn me not to do plastic surgery, that’s why you look different… Or you could also be this Terminator guy and I’m like Sarah Connor, but then... you’re here to kill me, no, this is a bad example…”

_You always talk so much when you’re nervous..._

“Okay, how long have you been stalking me?” Jongdae asks then, raising his eyebrow in surprise and holding his breath when he finally gets a good look at the amused male poltergeist that continues to haunt his mirror, standing closely behind Jongdae’s very back; to his credit, he cannot feel him, no body heat emitted, no breached personal space vibes tingling, nothing.

The mute guy in the reflection does look handsome though, even by Jongdae’s nonexistent standards of male beauty; he possesses this boyish charm which would probably make it for girls hard to resist him (if he actually existed), tanned skin, full lips that Jongdae dares to call sensual, and eyes that stare down into Jongdae’s very soul. Looking at this handsome fellow, Jongdae realizes that he has already seen this face somewhere before. The fact makes him frown skeptically, as he continues to size the other up, bitterly noting to himself, that the mirror guy seems to be much taller than Jongdae.  

_A while. And it was all good, with only minor losses, until… I fucked up not so long ago. Triggered things. And it has to do with you directly._

“So, you’re saying that you did a wrong thing, and I’m the one who’ll have to pay for it or something?” Jongdae gives the reflection a scandalized look, his chiller movie trained mind conjuring images of human sacrifice, serial murder and creepy crawling children.

_Depends on which perspective you’re looking at it from._

And as the boy’s hard-to-read expression starts resembling something akin to embarrassment, Jongdae is suddenly hit with the reason for finding the whole situation so creepily strange; the boy’s mouth never moves. Jongdae hears the deep voice start somewhere inside his head, resounding in his brain like TV put on loud that obscures an otherwise noisy room. There are thousands of his thoughts, trickling through his mind like water, but this voice stays on another wavelength, like a beacon in the storming ocean. It hits home. It makes Jongdae feel safe and sound, as if, by some weird nature, he has always been meant to only listen to this voice, submissive to its outcries and demands.

“Great, what is that supposed to mean,” Jongdae huffs at the evasive answer. “I’ve definitely heard your voice before. But where could I have seen you…” Jongdae whispers in a thoughtful tone, tails of his lips twisting in displeasure at his own incompetence. Why does he not remember the face when this voice feels like memories, childhood scrapped up knees, high school fights and awkward university years? Somehow, the voice does not match up with this handsome face. “How do you know me?”

_I’ve always been there for you, you know. Always by your side. It’s inevitable that you can hear me. You always will. But you shouldn’t get used to seeing me… it’s because I fucked up. Which I hadn’t meant to do, but it happened and changed things, and now we’re stuck here, and I’m supposed to look like someone you know… and I don’t. Which means I fucked up twice already._

“You’re… rambling,” Jongdae stares at the boy, quite confused over the exact emotions that he is supposed to be feeling; shock over the man’s tirade, anger over the other’s clear insinuations on having failed something that might have had to do with Jongdae, or happiness, because he actually feels like meeting an old friend. “What do you mean when you say that you fucked up and it changed things? This confuses me, I don’t like being confused…”

_Turns out I say too much when I’m nervous too. I’ve never had a chance to speak so freely before… Not that it’s good that I have this chance now, since I’ve put you in danger. And I can’t answer your questions, but you shouldn’t worry because I’m planning to do everything right this time._

“Who or what the hell are you?” Jongdae finally asks, his exhausted mind unable to contain and comprehend any more information any longer; he looks the other directly in the eye, finally deciding on the emotion he wants to be feeling, anger hardening his features. “Wait, I’m in danger?” He adds as an afterthought, his eyes round, palms suddenly sweaty.

_So to speak, my fuck-up changed your destiny? It was accidental and I’m sorry, so I’m here to, hypothetically speaking, atone for my fuck up. But in reality, I’m here to actually save your life._

“I’m going to die?” Jongdae’s breath quickens as he feels his pulse rising at alarming speed.

_You might, but can’t tell you the details. Future lookout politics._

9:12

Jongdae manages to cover another hundred or so of export documents, brown coffee rings littering the wooden surface of his desk like mine dents on a war field. His brain is melting from all the exported and imported product numbers, index finger hurting from the persistent mouse clicking between the 1C program and numerous Excel files. He suspects that his feeling even more on edge has to do with the now annoyingly silent silhouette that looms over his shoulder in the glass wall of his cubicle; the mysterious mirror guy who seemingly has a lot to do with his future but continues to remind Jongdae of his past. He is here for him, at work, his shadow continuously disturbing him because the man insists on sticking to the very back of Jongdae’s chair.

They did not discuss much yesterday evening; Jongdae was expectedly struck by a serious case of palpitations to the point of having to fish an Anaprilin tablet out of his medicine box. Being threatened with sudden death felt weird and stupid; why would he die, he is very young still, haven’t even met a girl he could potentially build a family with, he still has so many dramas and shows to finish watching. There are no people who are not afraid of death, and if they are saying otherwise, they are lying. Everyone wants to live if not for ever, than simply longer than a wretched hundred years, usually less, granted to mortals like him.

But as prosaic as life got, Jongdae found himself wishing to ignore his possible bitter fate and deep down just refused to cope with it, simply hoping for the best, as he turned to more everyday tasks at hand. He has always been a positive vibes kind of person, smiling at life bringing lemons, and jokingly hoping to strike a lottery and become a millionaire sometime into the future; get a chance to travel without the necessity to work and pay for plane tickets on a world tour; become an idol singer with access to money and pretty actresses (without actually doing anything to reach these unrealistic goals because he is not that stupid).

Surreal thoughts about the feasible sad outcome in the form of his quick death left for the background as he lay in his bed yesterday night, scrolling through his Twitter timeline, and remembered the overdue electricity bills and calls he was supposed to do at work the next day.

But the morning kicked him out of the bed with a much less positive mood, the prospect of having gone mad adding up with the news on his inevitable death which created a black hole inside his brain that sucked out everything else. Nothing mattered anymore; Jongdae had to be marking his own death in the fridge’s calendar pretty soon. He contemplated deleting all of his social media accounts, starting from Instagram; too much of damaging material there, no one needed the evidence of him being a closeted hipster.

But the distracting poltergeist man appeared in his bathroom’s mirror yet again, looking fresh and bored, as if he had not been the herald of yesterday’s bad news, making Jongdae forget about his internet troubles. That know-it-all expression on the other’s handsome face annoyed Jongdae who positively looked like a zombie; Jongdae’s somber grunt of a greeting surprised the reflected man.

_You stopped acknowledging me yesterday, thought you’d continue ignoring me today too._

“Fuck off,” not amused, Jongdae spat toothpaste at his mirror, white bubbles landing on the guy’s reflected nose and forehead, making the boy frown.

_You do realize I’m not actually on the mirror._

“You’re not actually anywhere, you don’t exist, you’re just in my head, and I’m going fucking crazy,” Jongdae whispered as if to no one in particular, warily checking the seemingly empty room behind his back for the umpteenth time. As he diligently applied deodorant under his shirt (why would he get naked in front of some stranger even if in theory, they did not actually exist), he waved his hand around, reaching out to possible people wearing invisibility cloaks in the room, existence of which sounded as plausible as Jongdae being a flamingo.

_You’d realize what I am if you really gave it a thought. It’s very simple. Even though I messed up the… appearance part of the deal. Which I am sorry about too._

“Angel of Death? Satan? Brad Pitt? I watched ‘Meet Joe Black’, I know the storyline,” Jongdae mocked the reflection of the man who rolled eyes at his sarcasm. “How can you mess up an appearance? So, you’re not supposed to look like a teenage girl’s wet dream? Thought so, I get the height and lips, but the tan... Way too much for one guy, people like you don’t exist.”

The boy actually dared to look confused as he chewed on his full lips, glossy black hair falling over his squinted eyes in a quite picturesque way; Jongdae stared unwillingly.

_I actually thought of looking like someone you know well, like, one of your siblings or close friends, but… turned out looking like this. But this face is of someone you know, there is no other chance, I can only look like someone you’ve seen._

“Someone I’ve seen is not the same as someone I actually know. I meet hundreds of people in the subway daily! This is ridiculous, why is this happening to me?” Jongdae muttered under his breath, squeezing the tube of facial cream so hard in his fit of despair that the serum spurted on the marble counter, making the mirror guy flinch. “What are you, in the end? I’ve been thinking about poltergeists, but then I don’t see any real purpose in their existence,” Jongdae said, having inwardly accepted his fate as a mental ward patient, because he actually dared talking to the nonexistent person in his bathroom’s mirror at eight o’clock in the morning. If they asked him later, he would cover himself up with stories about imagined friends and rabbits in waistcoats.

_I’m someone very dear to you, actually._

“So, there is a rule that prevents you from telling me what kind of creature you are?” Jongdae pointedly looked at the other’s reflection, waving his arms around as if in an attempt to try and hit the guy who stood only few steps away from Jongdae in the mirror perspective. “If you’re a ghost, then just say so…”

_If I tell you directly, I’ll have to face dire consequences. And you’ll be the first one to be affected by them, right after me._

“Well, this sounds totally fake, like you’re trying to make yourself seem very important,” Jongdae turned a deaf ear on him, inwardly panicking as he clumsily stepped into his neat Calvin Klein trousers, brought up to manage the on-point look even in case of the world burning right outside his window.

_Joking about someone who saves your ass sounds fake but here you are. One more word and you’ll be going straight to hell._

“Is this a threat?” Jongdae raised his hands as if prepared for a sudden attack just in case, seeing the seriousness mark the other’s eyes. “Am I really going to die?”

_My answer stays the same, you might._

There was a long awkward pause that hung between them like a bubble waiting to pop; the boy stared at him, his expression blank, and Jongdae looked back, sweaty and expectant. “What? No heads up? No advice? No ‘you’ll die when you choke on a nut or a bus will run over you’ kind of thing? Just that, just ‘you might’?” Jongdae’s hardly restrained whining sounded uncharacteristically squeaky even for him; he huffed, feeling the heart starting out the epic drum solo yet again.

_Heart attack._

“No way!” ‘kay, he sounded absolutely hysterical then.

_Well, you seem on the verge of having one right now._

“Are you shitting me?” Jongdae’s panic subdued a great notch when he noticed the weird twist to the mystical boy’s lips; as if the ignorant reflection was trying hard not to laugh in his face. “You’re joking about me dying, I don’t like you.”

_Makes sense. Good thing that I’m not going to annoy you for long then. The moment it happens, I’ll return to my default state and everything will be peachy and as it used to be._

Jongdae froze over the sink then, stilling his fingers which were clumsily flying about, unsuccessfully attempting to twist the material of his tie into a tidy knot. With his eyebrow raised in question, he carefully watched the expression on the reflected boy’s face transform into a seemingly sad look; he casted his brilliant eyes down as if he was afraid to see the other’s emotions at that moment. Using that chance of the other’s unexpected weakness, Jongdae mentally searched through the myriad of questions, quietly voicing out the main one.

“When?”

_Sooner than you think._

“This is not an answer,” Jongdae grabbed the edges of the sink in exasperation, thinking process ceased in favor of falling into a well of momentary depression; his breath shook as he thought of his parents and older brother. “Should I call my parents? Tell them I love them? I have some savings and this flat is written under my name. Do I even have the time to write my last will and…”

_Seriously, calm down. I told you that I’m here to save you. I won’t let anything happen to you this time._

“Wait, what did you just say? So, you allowed something to happen to me in the past? That’s your fuck up?!” Jongdae whipped his head up so fast, he heard a bone or two crack in his neck; the other boy’s eyes widened as he realized he had said something he obviously should not have.

_Just continue going by your usual routine. Working, then going home, no eating out tonight._

With those fragments of conversations flying between them like ripped pages out of the whole story, he disappeared, the mirror answering Jongdae with his own nervous pale face.

“You can’t just leave me here with no explanations, you prick! Hey!”

Jongdae continued to throw repellent looks at the empty mirror, ignoring the weirdness of absolutely misplaced sense of safety the last phrases had granted him with; he immediately knew that he would not be able to disobey the orders. No internal voice was signaling for him to feel wary over the possible danger; the ever existing internal voice that usually tingled whenever Jongdae was in particularly squeamish situations was then replaced by the promises of a mirror teenage boy to save Jongdae from the oncoming disaster.

Now Jongdae stares at the other’s blurry reflection in the glass wall, attempting to send silent messages with his burning eyes; his beady glances promising murder do not cause the needed effect, as the mirror boy continues to ignore him and prefers to stay mute, the probability of him being afraid of another slip up high. To his record, he looks suspiciously used to the neon furnishing of Jongdae’s office, seemingly in his element among cute multicoloured office supplies and bright promotion posters on walls as if he has been to a place as cutesy before. But he does send a long judging glance at Jongdae’s newly acquired big pencil holder in the form and approximate size of a real piglet.

“This was my welcome back present,” Jongdae explains, following the other’s eyes through the glass wall. The boy says nothing, his lips screwed in an amused smile. Seeing the expression on his face, angles of his full lips relaxed, crow's-feet wrinkles disappearing as he curiously inspects the folder titles, Jongdae suddenly realizes it is the much expected moment to seize his chance at fishing out more information out of the gloomy guy. He starts to talk about himself, using an emotional ploy. “I had been sick for four months. Quite a nasty accident. I could have died then.”

The boy’s lips lose the absent minded smile as he frowns and avoids looking at Jongdae.

_I know. I’m sorry._

“It’s okay, I’m all fine now,” Jongdae replies with a small smile, confusion clear as he watches the other’s dejected reaction. Belatedly, he notices that his sharing of personal information, an assumed ice breaker, is counterproductive when the reflection of the man turns away from him, as if with purpose to avoid his eyes. He hurries to change the subject to a more neutral one, determined to develop this conversation into a heart-to-heart talk. “I suddenly thought about this when I went to the toilet and you refused to join me there so I couldn’t ask immediately,” Jongdae whispers into the keyboard, but he can see the shadowy reflection move closer to be able to hear his every word. “Do you have a name? As I didn’t ask before, my bad…”

He sends an encouraging half-smile towards the glass, full of intention to get his invisible friend to start oversharing, and accidently manages to catch attention of his colleague from the neighboring cubicle, a plump woman of indefinite age. Her thin lips fade into a wide smile as she eagerly waves at Jongdae, winking in a joking manner. Embarrassed, he awkwardly nods at her, acknowledging her friendly gestures, just to throw a gloomy stare behind his back; why he bothers with this tiresome kid if his efforts are going to be wasted anyway, he is going to die, and nothing can change that.

_I don’t have a name. I don’t need it._

This one phrase dropped in a seemingly feigned disinterested tone makes Jongdae want to crawl; he throws a very annoyed look at the glass wall (probably scaring his colleague away), exasperated as he finally gives way to an immense annoyance to settle down in his bones like poison accumulates in the fangs of a snake, his plan on talking the other into sharing information forgotten.

“Why can’t you drop the act of a mysterious guy and just be straight about yourself? Tell me the backstory, explain the reasons, fucking tell me the future since you’re here. Don’t be like those dumb people in shows, where they keep important shit to themselves and then cry when they can’t prevent the awful thing just because they didn’t tell anyone about it in the first place.”

The mirror guy seems to have grown into the floor at first, his expression indignant, but several seconds later, with Jongdae sweating under his gimlet eyes, he practically nuzzles into Jongdae’s hair as he leans over him in the reflection of the glass wall, looking wronged and ready to fight if provoked; Jongdae does not feel an actual movement behind his back, but still shivers when the boy’s unmoving lips can be seen faintly touching his earlobe in the reflection, his whisper resounding through Jongdae’s head loud and clear.

_This isn’t about me trying to be cool. This is about your safety. I wasn’t supposed to show up just to entertain you with fun discussions and fancy dialogue. If I say that I can’t tell you, then it means that I can’t. Period._

“But why did you decide to save me? Even if you were at fault, and I’m gonna die because of you, you’re not actually supposed to play a good Samaritan and save me… I’m not that important,” Jongdae whispers this simple prosaic truth out and closes his eyes; it is much easier to keep up the nerve wrecking conversation this way when he cannot watch the other abuse his personal space. Jongdae does not feel him being physically close, but the hair on the back of his head still stands and something tingles inside his heart, tale-telling prickles of familiarity running through his veins again; deep down, he knows he can trust the boy and nothing will change the fact. Secretly relieved that he is not alone when facing this possible threat; he does throw a quick suspicious glance around the office to see if anyone is paying attention to him going crazy as he passionately talks to himself.

_I’m not saving you just to seem nice. I am meant to be near you your whole life, Jongdae, and I plan to help make it as long as possible._

The man’s reflection renders him with one meaningful glance and dissolves into nothing, leaving Jongdae to blink rapidly, mingled feelings over the exact meaning behind the words.

3:21

Jongdae is slowly walking towards the Yongsan subway station after his work day is over, blindly poking around in applications on his phone; his mind is absent as he opens KakaoTalk, sees 57 unread messages and switches to LINE with its 38 untouched replies by worried friends over his sudden inactivity on social networks; his thumb scrolls through the Instagram’s hashtagged photographs of dinners and bar drinks of his friends, double tapping through the never ending timeline without actually watching the filtered pictures. His mind is fully occupied with thoughts about the mirror boy, replaying bits and fragments of their conversations like a piped-in song; he has been bugged by a feeling that if he wants to establish who the enigma guy is, he will have to do it on his own. Dismissing the fact that the boy seemingly wants him to solve this mystery no less than Jongdae himself, judging by the fact that he apparently cannot talk about himself and the current weird situation at all.

The pieces of information which seemed so scarce to him before, has now managed to grow into a big ass puzzle, with most of its important pieces missing. Jongdae accepts as a fact that the boy has known him for a long time, yet refuses to actually show it with his words; but the way he seemed so comfortable in his otherwise absolutely insufferable office, carried the air of familiarity around his flat’s mirrors like he owned the place. Jongdae is also conscious of his feeling safe around the other; as evidence to his trusting instinct, Jongdae carefully watched the constant _on guard_ look the boy wore when they silently rode the subway that morning; coupled with his striking appearance, the guy looked positively gunman movie level of cool. But, yes, Jongdae is feeling totally secure with a bodyguard like that, if dismissing the tiny disadvantage that he can only appear in reflecting surfaces; now Jongdae only needs to find a mirror big enough to start carrying around everywhere he goes…

His face is what greatly riddles Jongdae. The poltergeist said that this face belongs to someone he knows; and this is the truth because he remembers seeing this person somewhere. This is an appearance able to catch the eyes of passersby, making one want to turn around and take a peek at such prominent features again. It’s like he’s got a face of an idol, Jongdae thinks to himself, throwing a sideways glance at the huge actor Do Kyungsoo promotional billboard, displayed in the subway hallway. Jongdae suddenly feels conflicted over the fact that he does not closely follow the Korean pop culture news.

But then, there is the priority confession of an assumed failed first time which the other admitted to just this morning. He allegedly did not manage to save Jongdae then.

He thinks back to all of the numerous times when he got into various dangerous situations; when he was five years old, he ran away from a pack of stray dogs and broke a baby tooth, having hit a street pole with his face in a heist to get away; in high school, he got into a fight with a wide-shouldered baseball team captain and had to stay home for two days, nursing his bruised stomach and pride; barely avoided an accident in blizzard when driving his friend’s car on their trip to Star Hill skiing resort; almost failed his entrance exam… So to speak, Jongdae has had his share of break-neck times. But so far, the only one incident that has left a bad taste in his mouth, still resounding with an ache down his back if he keeps one position too long – is the Sinchon episode that happened four months ago.

Now Jongdae can only remember the pain from the hit of that stray bouncing tire. Its devastating force knocking him down, body in disarray and mind in agony, as he lost consciousness unable to breathe. Vaguely remembers being very carefully moved to the stretchers, the faces of worried nurses who checked his pulse and opened his eyelids and…

Jongdae gets rudely knocked into, as people begin to file out of the packed subway train; he has not even noticed it reach the platform, too deep in his thoughts as he stares at the opened doors, his Samsung earphones readily plugged in, headset dangling from one of the cords. He deliberately lags behind, letting the crowd settle into the train compartment, because he needs to score a place near the glass doors; he has a thing or two to talk about with the mystical mirror guy, regardless of the fact if he does not want to share his secrets.

As the doors slide to shut, the handsome boy finally appears in front of him again; he presents Jongdae with a small distracted smile as he attentively scans the people riding next to Jongdae, not sparing the ones nuzzled into their phones a second glance. Jongdae takes the moment to inspect the other’s features yet again: healthy tanned skin, high cheekbones, small chin, prominent jawline, full lips in a natural pout, radiant eyes. The guy’s a real looker, he thinks and frowns as he determinedly fishes his phone out of the pocket, Naver searches “Top-tier idol stars”, rolling his eyes as pictures of Lee Min Ho’s hamster face flood the page; “male idols in their 20s”, and he gasps at ten similar titles of “ _Top 200 Heartthrobs in their Twenties”_ ; “new kpop male faces” appears to bring a number of profiles on debuting bands. Jongdae sighs in frustration, throwing a momentary annoyed look at the other boy, as the train comes to a halt and his browser refuses to load _“Top 10 Most Handsome Stars 2015 & 2016”_

“Ah, hello,” he says loudly, elbowing his way to the glass doors again and bringing the cord with microphone to his lips, when the train moves again. Jongdae looks meaningfully at the boy’s reflection, sees him freeze, shocked as he stares at Jongdae pretend to speak on the phone. “Do you remember telling me about meaning to dress up like my brother? What happened to that project?” Jongdae successfully ignores a couple of school girls who begin throwing funny looks at him and whisper to each other.

_Yes. Initially, I thought if I looked like your brother, you’d trust me better. But… something didn’t go as planned and I look like this._

“What could have possibly gone wrong with that kind of thing? You had the choice, and you made the wrong one?” Jongdae knows that he is playing with fire if he judges by the reaction on the reflection’s face; the boy starts frowning at him, seemingly nervous as he looks around either afraid that total strange people can actually hear Jongdae whine or fearing the impending consequences if he gives even the vaguest of explanations.

_I don’t know, stop asking stupid questions. There could be plenty of reasons why I look like this. I was distracted when I did the transforma… I’m not replying anymore._

The boy gives him an accusatory glance from under his perfect eyebrows, managing to tick Jongdae off; by some absolutely incomprehensible logic, he is clearly meant not to be curious, ordered to just accept his fate, being a passive witness to the unveiling paranormal activity, without knowing the whys and whens.

“Yes, yes, I’ve guessed it already that you’re prohibited and this is very annoying, like, will it actually kill you?”

The number of heads turning in Jongdae’s direction increases; some people even take a moment to unglue their eyes from their phone screens to throw a weird look at him, but Jongdae continues to tightly squeeze the cord, feeling like he has all the rights to be indignant; he was a simple boring human just a day ago, did not give a single fuck about any of that magical bullshit, and now he has acquired an uncalled for personal poltergeist who tells him he is very soon to die, follows him to every damn mirror and dares act pissy if he tries to make this clusterfuck of a situation more clear. If this does not sound fucked up, the rude phrase has probably gotten a new definition.

_Yes, it will kill me. Happy now? Keep it down, will you. Don’t attract unnecessary attention._

With the initial shock from having been randomly thrown into a fantastic situation worn off, Jongdae allows himself to smile in bitter irony as he hears the other advise him to be quiet; he perceives it as an impromptu order and suddenly picks up his rebelling teenager act, raising his chin high and defiantly turning his full attention on his phone.

“Don’t tell me what to do, idiot,” he never gets the chance to see the look of scandal on the reflection’s face, as the doors slide open and Jongdae walks out of the compartment to make the needed switch from Line 1 to Line 2.

88

When Jongdae finally unlocks his front door and carelessly removes his shoes (unprecedented), chewing his lip in deep concentration, there is not an ounce of anger left boiling in him; what really does continue to bug him is the origin of the poltergeist’s face. This mystery is the only one that covers the agenda for tonight, Jongdae thinks, throwing a side glance at the kitchen. His mother’s vegetables will have to wait till further notice, no attempts at cooking tonight, his unusual situation calls for some McDonald’s home delivery.

_Idiot is still very much here._

But Jongdae is one stubborn fellow, and so he demonstratively ignores the displeased boy who pops up in his living room mirror like he has never heard of any other place to be and shakes his head at Jongdae who calls the nearby fast food restaurant to make his order and give the correct address as they have weirdly deleted him from their base after a four-month long absence.

Feeling confident, Jongdae does not try to cover up when he changes into his holey pajama bottoms unlike how he tried hiding yesterday, throws his branded clothes in an untidy heap on the sofa (unheard of), and enters his bathroom to freshen up, pretending not to be affected by another man’s figurative presence in the room as the other slithers onto his bath mirror.

_How weird… I’ve seen you naked million times but it’s never been… so real before. I guess it comes with the physical membrane._

“What?” Jongdae drops the lavender soap onto the counter and skeptically raises his eyebrow; he throws an incredulous look at the mirror boy who stares at his naked chest in what can be described as greatest wonder, biting into his lip like it does not make him look absolutely sinful. Jongdae backtracks and asks again. “What?”

_The appetence? I’m finding your naked chest attractive to the eye._

The fantastical boy says it with a little frown; like he has no idea what these words imply, like he cannot imagine what kind of affect they are supposed to have on Jongdae, like there is no open question about the exact meaning of _million times_. They take long few seconds to come to their senses; Jongdae to forcefully calm down his speeding heart, willing himself to stay reasonable even when faced with a horny ghost who has possibly been stalking him for years; the boy – most probably to finish thinking his horny ghost thoughts.

“You don’t even exist physically… Mirrors don’t have a sex drive… As much as I’m flattered by your ghost boner though,” Jongdae’s voice turns mischievous as he pronounces the last phrase, always quick to come up with a timely joke and reduce the tension in the room down a notch; not that the mirror boy seems affected, Jongdae has managed to work up all of that sweaty tension by himself. “Besides, I’m into ladies, and if you’ve been stalking me enough, you’d guess by now.”

Master at avoiding awkward situations, Jongdae starts fighting for the slippery piece of soap to avoid looking at the mirror; he never notices an amused smile that screws the other boy’s lips, as he knowingly shakes his head as if exposed to a secret Jongdae has yet to discover in the future.  

“But wait, what if you decided to help me because you actually like me…” This afterthought hits Jongdae like tsunami over a peaceful shore, setting his mind in total disarray. “No, I think I can totally overlook my preferences if you still plan to save me…” He quickly adds, presenting the mirror boy with a fake slimy grin, a peace sign up against the cool surface of the mirror, as he thrusts it in the other’s suddenly annoyed face, crude at fishing for affections.

_Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not that handsome…_

“It’s okay, just embrace your feelings it they get you to save me, and I’ll accept yours,” Jongdae speaks up shamelessly, meaning no harm, as he watches the other boy’s mute mouth twitch in a hint of a smile and laughs earnestly because it actually looks cute; possibly, this unveiling situation could become of great interest to any scientist or psychopathist if they were involved in this story of a boy joking around with a ghost, witty Jongdae suddenly starts thinking of the possible profit this experience could provide him with, what if he writes a book or gets one of his friends to draw a web comic about it…

_It’s so strange to look at you in person. I’ve watched you grow, you know… And, for the future, I’m sorry if I’ve ever disappointed you._

Loud sounds of hot water splashing against the sink are the only ones distorting the perfect silence the bathroom has acquired as Jongdae takes in the mirror boy’s words, air of fun gone; they settle in like coffee grouts in a cup of particularly bitter espresso, drawing a black pattern down its white walls. He gives the boy a quick glance, sees the mark of sadness in the other’s eyes, wonders if it is okay to ask questions now, okay to be curious of their fate, okay to finally panic and ring alarm bells. But as Jongdae opens his mouth, the boy just frowns and shakes his head, worry written into his features as he disappears.

What if he gives up, Jongdae silently questions himself. Why does he trust this guy so much? I’ve known him for two days… but despite the seemingly little time spent together, Jongdae cannot shake off the feeling of familiarity which strikes him whenever the boy’s voice resounds in his head, always so deep, loud and clear. Have they known each other in his other life? He said that he had always been near Jongdae. Ghost? Poltergeist? The boy looks barely of adult age, seemingly even younger than Jongdae himself. Childhood friend with unfortunate ending who decided to help him now? But then, his words about fucking up and changing Jongdae’s fate continue to sit in the very back of Jongdae’s mind, always present as his memory returns him back to the chilly November day, Sinchon crosswalk, and the damn tire only hitting him, every other passersby unscathed…

Jongdae suddenly remembers looking at his phone at the time of accident, scrolling through the trending news on Naver site. What were they about? Was there anything important which could have been worth losing his life for? He thinks back to his mother’s words about the phone causing the barely avoided tragedy, and has to stop himself from rolling his eyes on reflex because he has always chosen to blame the driver instead; yet, if he takes to mind the relevancy of the news… He was doing his usual checking routine of world events, political and economic news, and then quickly skipping the entertainment pages to get to the sports thread… At least, several popular news sites were reporting on the couple of idols confirmed to be dating, if he remembers correctly. Jongdae’s eyes widen.

He carelessly throws on a shirt as he runs towards his laptop; five minutes into the Naver search, with key words of “new idol couple exposed november”, and Jongdae is not sure what exact emotion he is experiencing exactly when his research turns successful.

‘Kim Jongin is reportedly dating Jung Soojung’

‘Lucky Jung Soojung is in a relationship with the nation’s new heartthrob Kim Jongin’

‘Actress Jung Soojung’s agency has confirmed her romantic relationship with idol Kim Jongin’

“Your name is Jongin! You’re supposed to look like Kim fucking Jongin whoever that is!” Jongdae screams after clicking through a number of links, left to feel dumbfounded and empty. “Here to the blurry pictures of idols in black hoodies with only their noses showing, how the hell were you choosing the so-called face to turn up with, I don’t even know who this guy is! You said you were supposed to look like someone I know or, at least, someone I have seen before! I‘ve almost broken my brain trying to decipher who you were, and this dumb guess turned out to be right actually…”

Jongdae throws the computer mouse onto his keyboard in a fit of uncontrolled anger as he stares at the idol’s glossy smiling face; he has a good layer of make-up on, with a breeze of acne spots down his cheeks, and his nose altered to look straighter. Plastic surgery, Jongdae decides and scoffs in displeasure, his imagination supplying with the image of the mirror boy’s small bumpy nose. Feeling inexplicably bitter, he continues to scroll through the idol’s professional photographs posted on one of the sites, unable to believe this kind of luck, or lack therefore; in the not very long twenty five years of his life he has never paid any attention to popular Korean idols or mainstream dancing groups, let alone male ones, choosing to turn to much better (in his humble opinion) artists like NELL, Glen Check and other various indie rock bands. But this… He turns to his body-length mirror, his expressions barely contained, as he sees the reflection of other boy with an appearance of idol Kim Jongin stare at his screen with a worried frown.

_But you’ve seen him before. Maybe, you’re his closeted fan?_

“Number one closeted fan!” Jongdae shouts at him, spitting frustration. “I didn’t even know this guy existed in the first place!” He whines loudly, but at the same time, Jongdae feels conflicted over the true nature of his anger; he is not sure why but there is such a deep displacency growing in his heart, consuming it with much vigor. Jongdae wants to feel angry at the mirror boy for his mistake; he had to know better, did he not tell Jongdae that he had spent years and years with him, them growing up together…

Was Jongdae hoping to try and find the person behind the following him reflection, seemingly, his last resort in getting answers and support, and now he could forget his hopes in a dumpster, because the mute face belongs to an idol… or Jongdae secretly regrets the reality behind this face, and that is in reality just him going crazy fucking mad, with no amount of medical help able to cure his seeing idols in mirrors and hearing voices in his head… Or was there some other reason he could not put his finger on just yet…

_I couldn’t help it… This was the last face you’ve thought of before the accident happened and that tire hit you…_

Jongdae freezes, cold sweat covering his palms, anger forgotten, as he hears the boy make a sudden confession, and whips his head around to give him an incredulous look.

“So, I was right. We were talking about that accident after all. How the hell could you be involved in that? I’m just very lucky, shit happens… Are you okay?” With confusion written on his face, Jongdae frowns as he sees Jongin take a forced step back into his reflected room; as if an incredible power was trying to move him away from the mirror.

_Jongdae, no… Jongdae, please, listen to me, you have to listen to me! When the…_

The boy dissolves into the mirror, his mouth caught in a mute scream, and Jongdae is overwhelmed with the sudden ice cold feeling of dread when the warm safe voice inside his head cuts off mid-sentence and his flat resounds with the shrill noise of intercom calling.

∞

Life has a tendency to _randomly_ throw you into most squeaky situations at most inappropriate of times.

When Jongdae gets questioned by the police, a doctor and one suspicious shrink later, he is consistent and keeps to his one story well: he had been unexpectedly attacked with seemingly malicious purpose of murder and would have been killed, if a brilliant idea had not stricken him in the most important moment of danger and he did not decide to jump behind the so conveniently placed hallway mirror to hide from his attacker’s knife. The attacker turned out to be the mad widow of man who had died in the car accident back in November, his safety cushions having refused to work in the crucial moment. The man, on his own part, appeared to be an avid drunk driver, well-known in the police circles for his drunken stunts; his wife had hoped to receive the insurance money after his death to pay off their debts, but with her husband having driven with an unbelievably high level of alcohol in his blood, plus involving a person in a serious accident, the grief-stricken lady received no financial support.

Left with no husband and no means to continue living her life, she has apparently gone twisted mad and decided to take out her anger on the very “person involved in the serious accident”, that person turning out to be Jongdae himself. To her credit, she had plotted out a Jason Bourne film series level of revenge by getting a job at the McDonald’s near the place where Jongdae lived, which she had admitted to have sneakily looked up in the police records, daring enough to hope that he would be ordering at the fast food restaurant soon after he returned home and personally coming down to the first level to pick up his ordered dinner.

As if the fate was totally playing into her hands. As if someone had triggered it to.

In the retrospect of most recent things, no wonder that the woman was immediately admitted to a mental ward, as she had proudly begun retelling the arrived police and doctors about this handsome idol Kim Jongin willingly jumping under her knife and her stabbing him in the very heart. Not able to find any hurt idols in the vicinity of the crime scene, the smug lady’s brain was considered gone for good.

Jongdae, though… Jongdae will always silently remember the feeling of the mirror boy’s motionless body, heavy in his embrace, cold under the tips of his fingers, no heat emitted or absorbed.  

The ambush happened in a span of several moments, now Jongdae understands it, but at the time of attack, seconds stretched into centuries; him slowly descending the stairs in his apartment building’s entrance hallway, with the guard as usually missing somewhere, the attacking woman silently approaching him from behind, her knife held high, Jongdae hearing the shuffling and turning around to a tall boy covering him with his own body, accepting the knife right into his heart. No blood spilt as the knife got stuck in the unmoving muscles, and the lady fell over in shock at seeing the familiar face of an idol she weekly watched in her new favourite sitcom, stuttering out her muddled apologies.

The boy then had no business dealing with a knife sticking out of his chest, fell behind right into Jongdae’s accepting arms. Sweating, on the verge of tearing up from the immense stress, Jongdae was shocked not to be able to see even a drop of blood on the other’s usual black clothes.  

“What? How? Why are you here? What the hell did you just do?” Red-faced, with his heart playing out a non-rhythmical staccato, Jongdae whispered, having no handy knowledge about how to perform first aid on someone freshly stabbed in their heart. With his lips quivering, he looked at the boy’s idol face, ready to burst out sobbing at losing his comrade after having only just gotten to know him; but the other boy looked positively glowing though, seemingly not affected by a direct heart stab at all. His smiling lips continued to stay mute as he meaningfully stared Jongdae in the eye, the upside-down angle giving his crooked mouth a funny look.

_I’m your fucking guardian angel, you dumb piece of shit, and no one’s dying._

Experiencing mingled feelings of grief and confusion, Jongdae shook as the other’s body continued to gradually relax in his embrace, weighing down on his stress-weakened body, but he adjusted his hands, staring back with a no doubt stupid shocked expression plastered to his deathly pale face.

“You’re my what?”

 _Guardian angel… the one that saves your ass at times like this_? _Forget it, now, you have drop me very carefully on the floor, but be aware of the cuts you might get._

“What?” Of all the numerous times when Jongdae knew how to gather himself up and act mature, that moment was definitely not one of those; admittedly, it was not every day that he got handfuls of talkative dead guys who insisted on insulting him. He gulped like a fish out of water while the mirror boy could only huff at his slow reaction.

_Jongdae, listen, you have to drop me right about now or it’ll get ugly. Don’t be afraid. I’m your guarding angel and you’re my human. We belong together._

“Your guarding angel… My human… This sounds almost romantic,” Jongdae manages to find his wit even through the sweating struggle to hold the other boy up, his weight now as an abnormal mass pressuring down onto Jongdae, submitting the boy to the immense power, willing him to let go.

_Well, it’d be more romantic if you actually guessed who I am without me having to tell you, you’re dumb._

“My guarding angel is a douchebag,” Jongdae huffs out and the heavy body finally slips out of his sweaty hands; it falls down onto the floor with a loud clank, crashing into hundreds of misshapen mirror shards.

Later, Jongdae will start berating himself for having not asked all the important questions; for having missed the opportunity to talk to his Angel about the past, present and future; for ignoring the Angel on the very first day of their meeting; for being a dumb human who had not believed in anything paranormal or fantastic and got mocked in the face with his mortal beliefs after being unwillingly dragged into an absolutely magical story. Jongdae wishes to remember his past encounters with his Guarding Angel; gets disappointed when he realizes that this mental quest is impossible due to a human’s obvious inability to keep their ears open to anything unusual and extraordinary. He begins to doubt if the Guarding Angel was the real cause of the November’s accident; was it really his fault for having not alerted Jongdae of the oncoming danger… or was it Jongdae who had gotten absolutely deaf to the internal signals, having been so immersed in his own self that he had not cared about the outside world at all? Who knows? His Guarding Angel Jongin probably does, but he won’t tell. Because he’s a douchebag.

But, for now, as Jongdae gets examined for possible wounds yet again, another doctor asking him quite probing questions for investigation purposes, Jongdae’s pleasant deep internal voice whispers.

_Smile and nod._

Jongdae complies.

**Author's Note:**

> Numbers and what they represent:
> 
> 000 - Jongdae almost lost his life, his Guardian Angel and became a zero, nothing; 25 - Jongdae's actual age when he's recovered, become his healthy self, and ready to meet his GA again; 89 - number of days during which Jongdae existed without his GA (hospital time); 100 - 천사, means "Angel" in Korean, this hint basically gives Jongin away, it's also in a part where Jongdae actually meets him for the first time; 119 - Korean emergency phone line (panic time); 01 - they finally meet and become one as should be; 9:12 and 3:21 - hours and minutes before the attack; finally, 88 - Jongin's personal EXO number.


End file.
